Allan watched the lady captain disappear into the storm, almost wishing he were the one going with her. She was a beauty, that was certain, with her sea-green eyes and her flaming red hair that had been trying to escape the leather band she had it wrapped in. She seemed quite comfortable handling a sword as well, and was confident enough to command others, including men. Not an ounce of extra fat seemed to be on her bones from what Allan could tell, and he wondered at how strong she must be to not get blown off her feet by the storm, considering her short stature. Thinking of the storm, he decided he was better off where he was, and settled for enjoying the view of her leaving instead.

He sighed as he thought to himself that although Captain Murphy was beautiful, he wouldn't trade her for Deirdre in a million years. Deirdre was meant for him, he knew that every night when they went to their bed and she fit so perfectly in his arms that he sometimes wondered how he had ever survived without her. He adored his wife, but there was no harm in looking, was there?

Allan felt the slap on the back of his head just after the door to the Lia Fáil closed on the storm; he had been just about to turn and go find Deirdre to give her a kiss.

"Oi! What was that for?" He turned to glare at his wife, who was standing, hands on her hips, eyes shooting daggers at him. She spun on her heel and stomped into the kitchen, followed by her irate husband. Sniggers were heard from the other men in the crowd, but only after Deirdre had disappeared behind the kitchen door. Allan thought about following her, pausing for a moment as he thought of all the knives that were in the kitchen. Frowning, he squared his shoulders and pushed through the door, ducking just in time as a bowl came flying at his head.

He heard a yelp behind him as one of their regulars moved too slowly. Allan stood back upright before marching into the kitchen.

"You've gone and done it now, you 'ave! You 'it Sean Brady on the 'ead!" he cried in indignation.

"It's your fault! That bowl was meant for you! If you hadn't ducked…"

"If I 'adn't ducked, I'd be finding Ruarc and tellin' 'im to lock up my crazy wife while I nursed my broken nose! As it is, Brady's gonna give Ruarc an earful when 'e gets back with that woman captain!"

"Oh, and you can't wait for that, can you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't pretend with me, Allan A' Dale! I saw you making eyes at that woman!"

"Well, I'm not blind, Deirdre!"

"Aye, but that could be arranged," Deirdre cried, grabbing a long filleting knife.

Allan moved in fast, disarming her easily and pushing her into a wall to keep her from escaping. She struggled a bit, and Allan found his body reacting to the feel of her body, warm and wiggling against him. She felt his arousal a moment before he crushed his mouth to hers. He tasted slightly of the mulled wine she kept for them in the kitchen, and also of brown bread.

Deirdre felt herself giving in, just as she always did when he kissed her, her body softening under his touch. She was still angry at him, but she felt her lips parting, her thighs opening to draw him closer. Allan's tongue danced over hers, but he never let up his grip on her wrists where he had them pinned to the wall. As he crushed his hips against her, Deirdre found herself getting more and more aroused by his show of strength and by her relative helplessness. She moaned against his mouth, pushing her body toward his, trying to rub herself on him to ease some of the tension. In answer, Allan chuckled, his warm breath feathering her mouth.

"Here now, what's this all about, eh luv?"

"I just want you, is all, Allan," she whispered back, lifting one leg to rub it up and down the back of his thigh.

Allan lifted an eyebrow in amusement as he placed his forehead on hers.

"Aye, well that's obvious," he replied wryly.

"Please, Allan!" she cried softly, her voice nearly drowned out by the storm. Her own emotions raged as strongly as that storm, whipping her body into a frenzy, rattling her nerves until all she could think of was relief. To her dismay, Allan chuckled once more, moving his lower body away while keeping her hands firmly against the wall.

"Deirdre, we've a roomful of guests just now, some what we don't know. What if they take it in mind to run out on their bills?"

A part of Allan was teasing her, but another was always afraid that their new existence and the stability it gave them, would disappear. Sure, he missed adventures, but he definitely enjoyed not having to worry about where his next meal would come from. To that end, Allan A' Dale ran his pub smoothly—never allowing the poor to go hungry, but never allowing the well-off to avoid their bills, either.

And while he wanted her—the evidence making itself painfully obvious between his legs—it would have to wait for now. That was when Deirdre shifted position, snaking her leg up between them to rub it against his erection. He moaned at the feel of her touching him—despite the layers of clothing they both wore, her touch sensitized him even further. His pants scraped painfully against his tender flesh and he groaned once more as she continued her assault, moving her head to kiss his chin and neck.

"Deirdre, we can't—we 'aven't time," he protested, his words sounding weak even to his own ears.

"Why, Mo Croi? Do you plan on taking a long time?" Deirdre whispered in his ear, tugging on an earlobe as she spoke.

"Lord no!" he responded, dropping his hands to untie his pants while Deirdre's released hands lifted her skirts and guided him to her center. She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed into her, eliciting moans from both of them. He kissed her mouth, deepening the kiss as he pushed deeper into her warm core as well. No words were spoken—none were needed—as he thrust in and out of her, his movements hard, fast, and fluid. Deirdre cried out as he filled her again and again, welcoming the violence of his strokes. She tangled her fingers in his chestnut hair, her own blonde tresses escaping the bun she kept it in with every stroke that slammed her into the wall. She closed her eyes in sheer bliss at the feel of him inside of her; when she opened them, his deep blue eyes met her lighter ones in a shared moment of passion.

Outside, the storm raged. Rain lashed the shuttered windows, and the wind rattled the back door like an angry husband locked outside. Thunder rumbled, shaking the land, and lightning lit up the dark night.

Inside, Deirdre mewled a protest as Allan pulled out of her, but then he dragged her to the floor, pushing her to her hands and knees. He roughly dragged her skirts out from beneath her knees and flipped them over her hips before he spread her legs and scooted up behind her on his own knees. Within a heartbeat or two, he was pushing against her slick entrance and then he surged forward, slamming his full length violently back inside of her. Deirdre groaned as Allan held her hips, continuing his assault until she could take it no more; she squeezed him tightly, pulling him over the edge with her, their cries drowned out by a loud crash of thunder.

Spent, Allan rolled to the side and lay on his back, breathing hard; Deirdre collapsed where she was. After a few moments, Allan tied his pants back up and turned to his wife, who looked for all the world like she had fallen asleep on the hard wooden floor. Gently, he pulled her skirts back down over her bottom.

"Deirdre?" His calloused hand stroked her soft cheek, lovingly tracing the line of her jaw.

"Mmm hmm," she replied noncommittally.

"Do you wanna tell me what's goin' on now?" he whispered in her ear, kissing her eyes and nose. Allan was constantly amazed by his feelings for Deirdre. After losing his mother soon after his brother's birth, and his father's subsequent violence, Allan had never thought to love someone, let alone to have them love him enough to be jealous over him.

Deirdre sighed and opened one eye to look over at her husband. The light from the fireplace was kind to his already handsome features, accenting the high eyebrows and luscious lashes that had half of the ladies in Malahide sighing when they saw him.

"I don't know what you mean." Genuine confusion sounded in her voice as she turned her body to look at him better; she had completely forgotten about her jealousy in the aftermath of their loving.

Allan pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the smell of her hair—bread, meat, and the herbs she used in her cooking. "The last time you got mad at me fer lookin' at another woman was near a year ago—d'you remember?"

"Oh, aye, I remember. I remember you looking at Miss Brighid Fionn like she hung the moon," Deirdre retorted smartly.

In spite of her renewed anger with him, she loved the feeling of his strong arms around her, holding her and comforting her. Even though they were now running a pub instead of running from the law, Allan still stayed fit—his arms were long and strong, his big hands calloused, his chest well-muscled, and despite her cooking, his stomach remained flat. Running the pub was hard work, and Allan continued to work out daily with his double swords when he could as well, an activity that attracted the young local women. Deirdre found that she was comforted by his body, even as she was irritated with others for seeming to want his comfort as well.

"I never did and you know it! Just because she wound up in my arms one night, cryin' 'er eyes out 'cause 'er dad put 'er out…"

"For bein' a harlot!"

"For bein' in love with Michael O'Shay," Allan argued. "And didn't they marry after that?"

"They did," Deirdre agreed, then grinned, tracing her finger along his chest and listening to his heartbeat—which had been slowing—speed up once more from her actions. "It was a bit funny when she said she wanted to thank you for bein' there for her, since you reminded her so much of her da when he wasn't yelling at her."

Allan glowered. "That was not funny!" He pinched Deirdre's bottom and she yelped and giggled as she snuggled even closer to him.

"Everything was funny to me then—my morning sickness had stopped, and I was beginning to show with Jack."

"Speaking of Jack, that was the other time you was jealous, when you thought I wanted Will's Djaq instead o' you."

Deirdre chuckled. "I was pregnant with Tom then, and I…"

She stopped speaking as the realization hit them both at once. Deirdre raised her head to look at her husband, her wide blue eyes meeting his equally shocked gaze.

"I'm not bein' funny, luv, but you don't think you could be…I mean, you ain't…are you?"

Deirdre worried her lower lip with her teeth as she thought about the last time she had had her moon flow. She counted back the weeks and found them turning into a month, then more. She thought once more of how tired she had been of late, and of how her sense of smell seemed more acute than ever.

"I guess it could be. I'll call on the midwife tomorrow to be sure."

They looked at each other seriously for a moment before breaking into matching grins, their joy cut short by a banging on the door that led to the main room.

"Hey! Are you two done making up? You've a load o' hungry people out here, that're a wee bit afraid to come into the kitchen to serve themselves, and I ain't the owner no more, so I ain't takin' the chance, neither!" Mike's voice sounded indignant as he added, "If I'da known you two'd spend all yer time shaggin' and none makin' money, I'da sold the pub to someone else!" They knew Mike's grousing was mostly for show, and that the older man thought of them like the children he had never had.

Making their way to the door, they each took a deep breath before opening it to the rousing applause of their new friends. The O'Malley sisters were holding Tom and Jack, although holding Tom had become a chore since the boy had found out exactly what his feet were for. The A' Dales were once more enveloped by the warmth of the Lia Fáil as they served their guests, waiting anxiously for Ruarc's return.


A/N: Please review! I always look forward to your thoughts!